


Mother's Little Helper

by deadlydecember1214



Series: The Losers Of ‘89 Were Here [8]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, KING Stephen - Works
Genre: Boys In Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-11-02 05:44:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20641157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlydecember1214/pseuds/deadlydecember1214
Summary: Whirling around, he slammed his fist into the wall beside his door hard and, for good measure, did it again. His knuckles throbbed painfully and he felt his eyes burn as tears filled them. Turning, he fell back against the wall and allowed his legs to go out from under him. Sliding to the floor, he put his head down in his hand that didn’t hurt, leaving the one pulsing with pain on the ground beside him.





	Mother's Little Helper

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, it’s Reddie but it’s really just about Richie and his childhood… going into why his parents are the way they are in my AU. The title comes from The Rolling Stones’ song by the same name.

Richie Tozier fiddled with the corner of the prescription in his pocket, walking down the alley between the Corner Street Drug and the record store. He lightly bit his lip, trying to keep himself from smiling like a dumbass. He was going to see Eddie and, better yet, have a damn good excuse to. Eddie always got twitchy when Richie showed up just for the hell of it but this time he could simply shrug and say he had a prescription he needed filled, wasn’t his fault.

Richie’d never been so fucking thankful for his mother’s Valium dependency before.

Turning onto the sidewalk, Richie jogged up to the door of the pharmacy, pulling it open and slipping inside. The little bell over his head rang out but he ignored it, ducking into the nearest aisle to get to the pharmacy counter. Looking around he couldn’t see his boyfriend immediately but didn’t think too much of it. He knew Eddie was working, so he rang the bell on the counter for assistance. 

Then, because he was bored, rang it once, twice, three times more.

“Okay! Okay! I’m coming!” He heard his favorite voice snap from behind a shelf of prescriptions, “How can I— Richie?”

Eddie came around the shelf and glanced around, moving quickly to the counter where he covered Richie’s hand to stop him from dinging the bell again. Giving his boyfriend an unamused look, he lowered his voice, “What are you doing? You know Greta’s working right now, too, dumbass?”

“I don’t see her,” Richie looked around before returning his gaze to Eddie, eyes wide and innocent, “Besides, I just came to drop off something for my mom. You’re the one holding my hand, Eds.”

“I am not!” Eddie argued before glancing down at his hand still covering Richie and quickly pulled it back, “That’s not holding hands. That’s stopping you from acting like a spastic asshole.”

Richie sighed, bring his hand up to rest his chin in his palm, “Such a sweet talker, it’s no wonder that I—“

“Do not,” Eddie hissed, shoving Richie off the counter and pointing at him with a glare, “Finish that sentence. Not in here.” His eyes darted over Richie’s shoulder.

With a sigh, Richie looked behind him to see Greta Keene lazily stocking the aisle with bandages and dressings a few yards away. If she’d turned her head, she’d have seen his entire attempt at flirtation with his boyfriend a moment ago. Rolling his eyes, Richie turned back to Eddie, having the good sense to look just a bit apologetic.

He pulled his mother’s prescription from his pocket and slide it over to his boyfriend, “I just came to drop this off, I swear.”

Looking down at the paper before flickering his gaze back to Richie, Eddie took the paper and turned around to file it away for when Mr. Keene can in and could fill it.

Richie felt someone smack his arm hard enough to possibly bruise and looked over to see Greta Keene passing him, opening the half door to let herself into the pharmacy. “Sup, Loser.”

“Well, if it isn’t Derry High’s next Queen Bitch,” Richie remarked with a sarcastic smile. 

Greta spun around to give him a mocking look, “What brings you in, Tozier? Finally goin’ on Adderall?”

“Actually, I think I picked something up from your mom last week, just seeing if I can get something to help with the itching,” Richie quipped back, shooting her an unamused smile.

Greta pursed her lips, “Well, I guess you’d come by it honest, wouldn’t you?”

Eddie returned but Richie didn’t move his attention to him, keeping his gaze on Greta. Narrowing his eyes, Richie shook his head, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Greta shrugged, “Like father, like son, right? Except you’re just talk while your dad actually does it.”

Richie felt Eddie’s eyes snap toward him but he continued to glare at Greta, “What the fuck are you talking about, Keene? The bleach for your hair messing with your head again?”

Greta laughed in a cruel, cold way, “I’m talking about your dad coming in every other week to pick up a box of extra large rubbers with that pretty little dental assistant of his hanging off his arm. You’ve seen him, right, Ass-brak?”

Richie spun to look at his boyfriend, who instantly looked away at his hands.

“Aww, not such a good friend, huh? So sad.” Greta mimed crying before flipping him off, “Later, freaks.” With that, she went back to the store room, slamming the door shut behind her. 

“Richie—“

“Leave me the fuck alone, Eddie,” Richie snapped, turning around and leaving, making sure to slam the pharmacy’s glass door shut behind him. Ducking back into the alley, Richie made it a few paces before kicking hard at a discarded milk crate, sending it down the alley. Clenching his fists, he made his way back home.

His father’s car missing from the driveway just added to his anger. 

Slipping into the house through the back door, Richie took the stairs to his room two at a time until he reached the door at the end of the hall with _FUCK OFF _craved into the wood. He’d used his father’s pocket knife to carve it when he was 11. It had hurt to breathe for a week afterward. 

Slamming the door shut, Richie went straight to his old record player, finding the album he was looking for from his book shelf and putting it on. Turning up the volume as loud as the system would go, Richie began to pace the length of his room, the haunting beginning of A Rush And A Push And The Land Is Ours by The Smiths filling his brain. The sound nearly—nearly—made it impossible to think.

Unfortunately, it didn’t completely block all thought out.

_“Richie! Sweetie, time for school!” His mother’s musical voice called from down the stairs. Finishing tying his shoes, Richie hopped off his bed and rushed out of his room and down the stairs. He was six and it was the first day of First grade and Bill, Stan, and Eddie were waiting for him._

_Maggie, a kind, warm smile on her face, stood waiting for him in the kitchen. She laughed, taking in his bright orange overshirt that he’d put over a clashing blue Soft Cell t-shirt. Shaking her head, she ran her hand through his hair, “Well, don’t you look handsome?”_

_He grinned up at her, “I’m ready, Mom!” _

_“Well, then,” She nodded, pinching his cheek softly before taking his hand, “Let’s go, My Little Love!”_

Richie shook his head hard. 

He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to remember it, wished he could scrub it away from the recesses of his brain where it lay in hiding, always popping up at the very worst times to remind him of—

Nope. He couldn’t go there. It didn’t matter anymore, none of that mattered anymore. So there was absolutely no fucking point in torturing himself think about it. That part of his life was over and it was all his father’s fault… And maybe his a little too.

_“Why, hello, Richie!” Leslie, the receptionist at his father’s office greeted him as he passed through the front door. He was ten and had just gotten off school, a block away from his father’s practice. His mother had told him at the start of Fifth grade a month ago that every day after school he was allowed to walk to his dad’s work and when the office closed, dad would drive him home._

_It was boring as hell, but he’d promised her he wouldn’t wander or follow one of the other guys home, so every day he lazily did as he was told._

_Leslie gestured behind her, “Your father is in the exam room, go on back. He isn’t with anyone right now.” _

_Richie nodded, giving Leslie the thumbs up, “Keep it cool, Les.”_

_The woman laughed and shook her head as he passed. _

_He knew the way to his father’s exam room well. He had to make the walk every six months, after all, for his regular teeth cleaning. Having a dentist for a dad had some advantages, he guessed. Mom was sure happy to have one for a husband, at least._

_Going around the corner, Richie slowed, hearing something coming from down the way where the exam door was closed. It sounded like voices, hushed like they were trying to not be heard but not doing such a hot job. Cocking his head, Richie glanced over his shoulder._

_His dad got pissed when he interrupted appointments… but Leslie had said he wasn’t with anyone, hadn’t she?  
_

_Stepping closer, he could better hear the voices. One was definitely his father… it took a moment but then he recognized the other. Dawn. That pretty lady that worked for his dad. She helped clean his teeth last time his dad had brought him in. Relaxing, Richie picked up his pace again, going to the door and opening it._

_He froze in the doorway, confused for a moment what he was looking at. His dad was standing with his back to him, Dawn sitting on the counter in front of him with her legs wrapped around him. She had her hand tangled in his dad’s hair and Richie realized suddenly that they were… were kissing but it was more than just that, he thought. Dawn’s shirt was on the counter beside her and his father was touching her… _

_What the fuck, Richie had time to think before instinct took over, making him back up and slam the door shut before he saw anymore. He heard the pair inside fall silent as he continued back until he bumped into the wall behind him. _

_His dad… His dad was cheating on his mom._

No! No, he didn’t want to see it again!

Whirling around, he slammed his fist into the wall beside his door hard and then for good measure, did it again. His knuckles throbbed painfully and he felt his eyes burn as tears filled them. Turning, he fell back against the wall and allowed his legs to go out from under him. Sliding to the floor, he put his head down in his hand that didn’t hurt, leaving the one pulsing with pain on the ground beside him.

That’d been when his life went to shit. When he caught his father with Dawn.

He’d left the office after that and started home alone, only for his father’s car to pull up beside him a block later. He’d ignored him at first until his father had rolled down the window and yelled at him in a way he never had before, _Richard, if you don’t fucking get in this car right now, I’ll fucking run you down._

He’d glared but he’d gotten in the damn car.

And that’d been the first time his father had ever hit him. Right after he’d gotten in the car. Just reached out and struck him in the ear so hard that his head had smacked right into the window of the door he’d just shut. Then his father had grabbed his collar and jerked him forward hard enough to create whiplash.

_You say a word to anyone, I’ll fucking kill you. Do you understand?_

Sitting on his bedroom floor, Richie could still almost feel his father shaking him so hard his glasses had slipped off back then.

_Do you fucking understand?_

He’d said he did… And he had never said a fucking word. 

Startled from his thoughts, Richie realized someone was pounding on his bedroom door. Standing up, he threw the door open, “Can’t you fucking read?”

His mother stood there, her eyes narrowed, “Turn that damn trash down!” 

“It’s not trash,” He argued, “It’s The Smiths. Strangeways, Here We Come. You’d think you’d like it, quite a few references to drugs.”

“Think you’re funny?” Maggie hissed at her son, in a flash she reached out and snatched Richie’s chin, digging her fingernails into his skin so deep he squirmed, “Well, I just think you’re an insufferable pain,” Her grip tightened, “In my,” Tightened more so that Richie’s eyes watered and he was sure she’d broken the skin, “Ass.”

She released him, scratching down his skin and making him yelp. He looked at her, glaring, and brought his hand up to his chin to check if it was bleeding. Just a bit. She pointed at him, “If I have to tell you again, I’ll throw that fucking thing out of the window and shove you out right after it. Now, go.”

Glowering and clenching his teeth, Richie turned around and pulled the needle off of the record. Looking over his shoulder, he threw up his hands, “Fucking happy now?”

She glowered back before turning on her heel and going off down the hall. Once he knew she was far enough away, Richie yelled after her, “Fucking shrew!”

All he got in response was the sound of his parents’ bedroom door slamming shut down the hallway. Rolling his eyes, Richie went to his door and closed it again. He started to drum his fingers on his thigh and instantly regretted it, his hand throbbing painfully. Looking down at it, he noticed a bruise already starting to blossom over his knuckles, one of which was cracked. 

Sighing, he fucking prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that it wasn’t broken.

* * *

Several hours later, Richie lay on his best friend’s bed, picking at the ace bandage she’d only just wrapped for him moments before. Beverly sat at her vanity, applying her mascara very carefully so she wouldn’t have to re-do her eyeshadow. The room, with its lavender walls covered in various band posters and sketches from Bill and a few of Bev’s own as well as Ben’s mock blueprints, was filled with the distinct scent of pot and the sound of Come Together off of the Abbey Road album.

They’d already listened through all of Sergeant Pepper’s, which meant Richie was now feeling _much _better than before.

“Stop that,” Bev said sharply, eyeing Richie in her vanity mirror.

Richie dropped his hand, which had been on the verge of unwinding the ace bandage around his other fist. Looking over at Beverly, he blinked at her, “Where the fuck are you even going?”  


“I’m not going anywhere,” Beverly shot him a look, “I told you, Ben’s coming over in a little while.”

“When the aunt is away, the boyfriend comes to play,” Richie mocked in a singsong voice and got a hair brush tossed at him. The opening cords of George Harrison’s Something started up and Richie picked up the brush, examining it and quipping, “Ever fucked Ben to this song?”

Beverly turned around to smirk at him, “Actually we prefer The White Album for that, record one, second side.”

Richie sat up, “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, “Hot.”

Smiling, Beverly brought her knees up and rested her chin on one, eyeing Richie, “You okay?”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?” Richie asked, bringing his pointer fingers up to the corners of his mouth and pulling them up into a smile, “See? I’m just fucking peachy.”

Beverly cocked her head to the side, “Well, the last time you came over for weed and The Beatles it was because you were pouting that Stanley wouldn’t let you go to the movies with him and Bill.”

“It wasn’t so much the rejection that hurt,” Richie lamented with a sigh, “As it was that they picked the one fucking movie they knew I wanted to see. Pair of dickbags, honestly.”

Beverly gave him a mocking look of sympathy, “Poor thing. My point was that that was before you and Eddie hooked up. Why aren’t you pouting to him?”

“Eddie and I didn’t fucking hook up, you make it sound like it’s just sex,” Flopping back onto her bed, Richie took a moment to listen to the transition from Something to Maxwell’s Silver Hammer and reached out to the already rolled joint in the ashtray on Bev’s bedside table. He lit it and took a long drag, puffing out the smoke as he shook his head, “And I told you, I’m not pouting.”

Beverly shook her head, “Yeah, because lighting up your third joint isn’t you pouting.”

“Exactly,” Richie said, holding out the joint to her. She sighed and reached forward, taking a drag off the joint as he said, “It’s me having a fucking party.”

Beverly laughed, smoke going everywhere, “You are so fucking high.”

He grinned at her, taking the joint back. What he was was sedated, which was exactly what he wanted to be right then. Hard to think too much under sedation. Hard to hurt too bad under sedation, too. Taking another drag, he waited till he was seeing spots to let his breath out, “I think I’m mad at him.”

“Who?” Beverly asked, running a hand through her hair. She was growing it out for the time being and it was to her shoulder blades, like fire turned to silk.

Richie inspected the burning end of the joint, “Shit, who were we just talking about, Red? Eddie. Eddie Spaghetti, My Love, My Life… Do you know that song?”

“I know it’s ABBA,” Beverly said, a look of distaste on her lips, “So, I know I’ve never listened to it.”  


“Eddie likes ‘em,” Richie mused, still staring at the joint, “Plays ‘em all the fucking time up in his room. Now ABBA,” He grinned at Beverly, “ABBA I’ve had sex to.”

Bev scrunched her nose, “Beep, beep, Trashmouth. I don’t think Eddie would like you running around saying shit like that. Why are you mad at him, anyway?”

“_Think_ I’m mad at him,” Richie emphasized before sighing and giving Beverly the joint, “You know he’s got trust issues?”

“Eddie?” Beverly asked and Richie nodded. She shrugged, “I mean, I can see it. He’s never talked to me about it, though.”

“Yeah, like I’m pretty fucked up, I know that but he doesn’t believe me half the time I tell him that I love him. He always thinks I’m joking or some bullshit and most people would recognize that even I’m not _that_ fucked up,” Richie started, narrowing his eyes back up at the ceiling. The record reached the end of I Want You (She’s So Heavy) and he heard Bev get up, stubbing out the joint, and flip it to the second side.

“So, I don’t understand how he can feel that way and then fucking lie to my face,” Richie asked as the plucky start of Here Comes The Sun played. 

Somewhere to his side Beverly sighed, “I don’t know either, Rich. I do know that the best way to figure out would be to go and talk to him.”

“He’s probably still at work,” Richie argued, shaking his head.

“You underestimate how long we’ve been in here,” Beverly came to sit on the bed beside him, running her fingers through his hair and looking down into his eyes, “He got off an hour ago, which means, Tozier, that you are officially out of pot and out of excuses not to go and work it out with your boyfriend.”

Richie sat up, leaning back on his arms, “Fuck you, Bevvy.”

Kissing her cheek as he stood, Richie grabbed his jacket from the floor. Beverly waved to him as he headed for the door, “Fuck you, too, Rich.”

* * *

Eddie’s bedroom window was open, a warm yellow spot in the purple twilight. Richie felt his heart clinch, knowing full well that that window was left open just for him, a silent invitation softly saying _Come on up_…

He wished he’d had just one less drag as he clambered up the old trellis, his limbs feeling ten times heavier and his reactions ten times slower. At a snails pace, he managed to get up, sitting silently on the window sill for a second, watching his boyfriend sit at his desk with his back to him. 

Eddie had such great shoulders… It wasn’t fucking fair.

Knocking lightly of the wood frame, Richie clambered in and nearly caught he foot on the sill, barely managing to right himself as Eddie turned around in his chair. He watched him nibble at his lip and felt his heart skip a beat.

_Fucking get your shit together, Tozier, _His brain snapped at his heart, _We’re supposed to be pissed at him, remember? Not fucking in love with him._

But that was the problem wasn’t it? Even while mad at him, Richie was in love with Eddie. Always would be. 

Eddie looked him over, eyebrows coming together, “I thought that maybe…”

“I wasn’t coming?” Richie finished, pulling his jacket off and cringing when he accidentally used his hurt hand to tug at it, “It was either sleep here or sleep at home. I picked the lesser of two shit shows; sorry to disappoint.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Eddie rolled his eyes, “Don’t be a dumbass, Rich, I wouldn’t have left the window open if I didn’t fucking want you here. I just, I mean, you’re obviously upset with me so—”

“Upset?” Richie asked, shaking his head, “Nope, not upset. Pissed off? Yeah, a bit.”

Eddie sighed and took a step forward only pause, cocking his head to the side and reaching out to grip Richie’s sleeve and bring it to his nose. He sniffed before lowing Richie’s hand, still keeping it in his grip, “You smell like weed.”

Richie jerked his hand away, snapping his fingers and feigning disappointment, “Dammit, and here I thought I’d get away with it.”

“Get away with it?” Eddie asked, shaking his head and looking a little hurt by Richie jerking away from him, “There’s nothing to get away with, I don’t give a shit if you get high. But I know you usually only do it at a party or when you’re sad and I also know you weren’t at a party so—”

“So, you think I must be sad?” Richie cut him off, moving away before turning back around to face Eddie, “Well, my boyfriend _did_ lie to my fucking face. Put a bit of a downer on my day.”

Eddie shot him a cool look, “I didn’t fucking lie to you!” He glared for a moment longer before his gaze flitted down to his socks, adding more quietly, "I just didn’t tell you.”

“And you don’t understand how that might have pissed me off?” Richie asked cooly from across the room, spinning on his heel to lean against Eddie’s bookcase. He glowered at his boyfriend, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

Eddie looked to the side, his lips slightly parted and he shrugged, “I didn’t say I don’t understand.”

Richie watched him, feeling all that hot anger and bitter betrayal pooling in his chest.

“You don’t, though,” Richie said, looking down at his hand and messing with the ace bandage as he shook his head. “You can’t. Not about fucking this,” He looked up to meet his boyfriend’s confused eyes.

“Because I just didn’t tell you,” Richie echoed pointedly, “Not so nice, huh?”

Eddie didn’t respond, instead just looking up at him with a clearly apologetic look and Richie felt his stomach twist in spite himself. He wanted to be mad. He wanted to argue, to yell or tell Eddie to fuck off… But how could he look into those big brown eyes and do any of that?

He and Eddie argued. They fought all the fucking time but they were never, ever, really, really angry with each other. Bickering was just one of the many ways they said _I love you_ or _I missed you_ or _I need you_. And the moment Richie looked into those regretful, worried eyes all of that came back to him. He couldn’t fight with Eddie.

Not for real, at least.

Richie shoved off of the shelf and went to Eddie’s bed, sitting on the edge and looking at his injured hand again instead. He knew he probably looked like he was pouting, just like Beverly had said early but he couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck. Any fight, any anger had swept away and now he just felt lonely and empty.

A beat later, he felt Eddie sit beside him and watched as the other boy gently reached over and took his hurt hand, lightly tracing his fingertips over the exposed skin of Richie’s fingers. Richie shivered, eyes flickering up to meet Eddie’s.

Looking over his face, Eddie’s eyes lingered on the scratches, now scabbed over, that his mother had left on his chin, before returning to his eyes, “What happened?”

Richie turned his head away, staring at one of Bill’s sharpie doodles on his bright red Chuck Taylor and shrugging, “Nothing, I’m fucking fine.”

He heard Eddie sigh in irritation, “Well, you didn’t have a fucked up hand or face when you stormed out of the pharmacy so that’s bullshit. I’m guessing it was your mom, that she scratched you. What I can’t figure out is what happened to your hand. Did you hit something?”

“Punched a wall,” Richie said after a moment silence stretched between them, “I told you I was pissed off.”

“And you told me I don’t understand why,” He felt Eddie softly touch his cheek, gently turning his head toward him until Richie was looking him in the eye, “So, why? This,” He gestured to Richie’s hand with his free one, “Isn’t just me not fucking telling you something. I know it’s not.”

He did, didn’t he? Because of course Eddie would know. Eddie always fucking knew.

It was one of things that made him so fucking infuriating. And so fucking wonderful.

“Do you remember my mom?” Richie started without completely meaning to.

Eddie’s eyebrows drew together, “What do you—“

Richie cut him off, shaking his head and making Eddie drop his hand from his cheek, “I mean, do you remember how she_ used_ to be? Because she wasn’t always— She used to be fucking awesome, remember? It was me and her against _him_ but she was always on my side.”

After a moment, he heard Eddie say, “Kind of?”

“The first time my dad ever hit me was because I caught him fucking his, get this, dental assistant in his office. Different dental assistant now, I guess, because I know he fired Dawn after that,” Richie let out a humorless laugh, “And he told me that if I said anything, he’d kill me and he slammed my head into a window. I was ten and obviously a fucking idiot so I believed him.” 

He looked back at Eddie, shaking his head, “And I never said a fucking word.”

Shifting his neck in agitation, Richie shrugged, “But my mom, she wasn’t drunk or drugged up then and she wasn’t an idiot so she figured it out anyway. And when she did, dad just assumed I’d snitched and beat the shit out of me. And when he did, mom realized I had known and I hadn’t told her a damn thing.”

He took a deep breath and Eddie reached out again, pushing his hair away from his face and biting his lip as he waited for Richie to go on. 

“He betrayed her.” Richie gestured to himself, “_I_ betrayed her and she started up with the drinking and pill popping and—“ Anger bubbled up his throat again so he had to swallow to stop himself from yelling and bringing Eddie’s mother running but he couldn’t shut himself up now. He went on, “And it _can’t_ get worse, Eds. Last time when he pulled this shit, I lost her and I don’t have anything left for him to take and if the fucking universe finds some way to make it all even more shitty then it is now, I don’t know—”

Eddie threw his arms around Richie the second he heard his boyfriend’s voice break. Shoving him back on the bed, Eddie laid next to him and hugged him so hard it was nearly painful. Somehow that made it even harder to stop himself from breaking and Richie’s vision blurred. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the crook of Eddie’s neck, breathing in that distinctly Eddie smell, something like laundry detergent and soap but also nothing like those. 

They stayed locked together, Eddie running his fingers up and down Richie’s spine for what seemed almost like forever. Eddie wished it had been forever when he felt Richie’s warm, shaking breath leave the skin of his shoulder cold. 

Running his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair, he looked over to meet his gaze with a look of complete heartbreak, “You’re going to be okay, Richie. And what happened then, what happens next, none of it is on you.”

Richie sighed, rolling away to lay on his back, shoving his glasses out of the way to rub his eyes. He shook his head, covering his face with his hands and feeling even more tears coming. 

Eddie snuggled into his side, tracing the shell of Richie’s ear with the tip of his nose before whispering, “You didn’t betray her, Rich. She betrayed you. You’re the kid and you did what any kid would. She was supposed to be the mother and she fucking failed you, not the other way around.”

Eddie pushed Richie’s hands away from his face, pulling his head toward him and capturing his lip with his own. Climbing on top of his boyfriend, Eddie deepened the kiss, feeling Richie’s tears on his own cheeks before breaking away so that their noses brushed. “Come on, Trashmouth, talk to me.”  


Staring up at Eddie, Richie shook his head, “You’re going to regret saying that.”

Reaching up to wipe away his tears, Eddie shook his head, “I don’t think I will. I always want you to talk to me. Fuck, never stop talking to me. I’d rather put up with you spewing the bullshit you always do every second for the rest of my life then just let you hurt,” He shrugged, slowly smiling a little, “Besides, you’re ten times less annoying when you’re rambling about real problems and not your dick.”

“Yeah and a million times more boring… C’mere,” Richie nodded to Eddie, gesturing him closer.

Eddie dipped his head, kissing Richie like he would fucking die if he didn’t. Richie returned in kind.


End file.
